dare
by therewithasmile
Summary: She had a hangover and couldn't quite remember every detail: just the bartender, who had a spiky black ponytail, and that she liked his drink. Oh, and that he was an asshole. / shikatema week 2015, bartender au.


_Dare was originally written to be part of shikatema week 2015 on tumblr. Around that time I lost steam for the ship and only wrote this one. I intended to fill all the prompts but I never got around to it. Maybe one day, I will, and I will update this and/or repost accordingly. Until then, this is Dare._

 _._

" _I don't think that's a good idea."_

 _Temari paused. Her hand halfway across the bar surface, the ponytailed bartender regarded her coolly, his lips pressed into a line. Not that she had expected him to speak at all – judging from his expression and the laziness in his eyes, she'd be surprised if he ever bothered speaking his mind at all. But the fact remained that he did, and he was looking at her, now. For the first time that night, he stared. It was almost a bit intrusive, but whether that was a side effect of her current state of intoxication, she wasn't sure._

 _So she ignored him._

 **...**

Temari woke up.

With a pounding headache.

In hindsight, maybe it _was_ a bad idea.

But she wanted that last shot, and even though she was definitely hung over, not a single bone in her body regretted her decision. Temari wasn't even sure if the very onesided conversation she had with the bartender was one her inebriated mind had imagined. He didn't bother speaking again that night, certainly not to her. Through the haze of memory she had strung together of the night previous, his eyes hadn't caught hers again.

Temari pushed her fingers into her temples.

At least the curtains were drawn, the peeking sunlight not as harsh to her weary eyes. As she splashed water on her tinge-pale face, she paused, water pooled in the cup of her fingers.

No way, for her to remember specifically just how much of a _dick_ the bartender was, there was _no way_ she dreamt it up.

Temari let the water spill like velvet from her fingers, before she clenched them into a fist.

 _Asshole._

 **...**

He was there, again, behind the bar, wiping glasses and tumblers in an oddly detached manner - like it didn't matter much if they were clean, he was merely doing so to kill his boredom.

The bar itself wasn't packed, a local place really. But there was something charming about it, to the point it became a frequent for Temari's group of friends. And it didn't take long before they sent her once more to order the next round of drinks. They'd joked, saying that she definitely had enough _appeal_ to get them for free.

But judging by the bartender, with the same disinterested gaze that she'd somehow come to expect, Temari doubted that were even an option with him.

So she slid into the seat and waited until he finally threw down his dishcloth.

"Don't you look like you love your job," Temari breathed. Something akin to a smirk flashed across his lips, just a quick quirk that twisted the corner of his mouth upward. And then it was gone, back was the mask of impassiveness she realized that she had come to expect from him, though they really only interacted twice.

He lifted his gaze to her – still bored, but maybe a little less so. Temari stared challengingly back, unflinching. And then he lowered his eyes, long lashes touching high cheekbones as he reached forward for a glass. His angular face only made prominent by pulled-back black hair, she couldn't help but to allow her eyes to wander, lost in thought, as she steepled her fingers and rested her chin upon the impromptu surface.

"Tempted to challenge your limit again?"

His voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper. And yet, it was sharp, just a hint of a sarcastic growl underneath dulcet tones that she suspected were only dulcet due to her current state of mind. To say she were surprised would be a bit of an understatement, but moreso due to the realization that he _did_ speak to her that night.

Granted, it was a quiet phrase, almost a challenge, a _dare_ for her to do exactly what he said. He didn't think it was a good idea? Well, _she_ did. Asking if she was about to challenge her limit?

Now that he's said it, maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all.

Temari chuckled, one hand weaving out of her interlaced fingers before they traced nonexistent patterns in the wood. "Maybe," she said, the corner of her mouth tempted to twitch upward.

If he were further amused by her response, he made no show of it. And so Temari gave him her order. To which he began to mix. It was a bit amusing, really; in a lot of the other bars she'd been to, he gave no attempts at a conversation or any flair. Straight to the point – and she wasn't sure if she resented or admired the fact. Saying the former would be hypocritical, but his chosen profession _was_ abartender. And being a bartender came with a set of unspoken rules and formalities that he seemed to ignore.

Maybe he was the reason the bar was rather empty.

He placed her drink down onto the bar, the _clink_ of glass against wood just loud enough to be shared between the two of them.

She forgot to thank him as she tossed down her cash.

He didn't seem too particularly care, anyway.

 **...**

She saw it then, from what was meant to be a sideways glance out the window. When her eyes drooped and her pen lazed between slack fingers; when her brain could no longer absorb any information from the textbook laid bare in front of her. A distraction for her eyes – for anything was better than black etchings against white, and the blue of sky would have been a welcome change.

Black hair, however, was not as much.

Black hair – belonging to a man with an angular face, drooping eyes, and what appeared to be _sweatpants._

Fantastic. The bartender – the one who'd quietly ignored her presence, even when she sat directly across from him, the one with _no bartending skills whatsoever –_ apparently lived across the building from her.

Temari _almost_ settled on glaring daggers at him until he noticed, until she shook herself out of it. She was merely bored by the studying, turned irrational from the dullness of memorization. That, and – knowing her track record as of late – he wasn't bound to notice anyways.

And this his eyes, slow and deliberate, rolled to the side. Toward the window. And she looked away.

Only to peek back a few seconds later, to see that his steady brown gaze had drifted from merely looking _left_ to looking _up_ and left.

At the clouds.

After a few moments, they returned to his own desk.

Temari told herself she wasn't exactly _snooping_ , but she couldn't help herself as she investigated his room, noting the plain furniture (or rather, the lack of it) and the stale décor. She considered herself an intellectual, so it wasn't so strange as for her to investigate, was it? Regardless, she then noticed what laid haphazardly across his bed, a clash of white against green bedsheets.

A _highschool_ uniform.

A combination of laughter and disgust bubbled at her throat, not that she knew why, but she didn't look back again.

 **...**

"You're a high schooler."

And as predicted, he didn't bother looking up.

Not that it frustrated her, for she'd come to expect as much by now, but it didn't stop the snark from flowing into her words, from lining each syllable with the tips of a dagger should he allow himself the chance to be attacked. But he didn't; he merely used the same dishcloth to dry another glass. Temari wasn't sure if she were impressed or unamused, although she couldn't help the begrudging respect as he continued his menial task, as if her declaration had been no more than an observation of the weather.

Perhaps that's all it was to him, she reckoned, as he replaced the glass before what sounded suspiciously like a sigh left his mouth. It wasn't for another few seconds of silence before he relented under her stare, the dishcloth catching halfway into the sink as one hand rubbed the back of his neck.

"So I am."

And as he spoke, it wasn't quite surprising to Temari that she had mistaken him for otherwise. In his voice was a maturity she didn't even expect amongst her colleagues, a hint of wisdom that he didn't even bother disguising.

Truthfully, it only irked her further. As if it was no longer an _age_ thing but a _personal_ thing.

"So what is someone, who is _clearly_ underage, the bartender?" She questioned. Each word lined with steel, both elbows found their way on the table as she rested her chin upon her hands once more. A smirk crept on her lips despite herself, something in the thrill of the challenge that their current line of conversation lead her to. "You'd think that's illegal."

But if she had caught him at all, he merely shrugged her off – with the same air of disinterest that was nothing short of _normal_ for him by now. "It probably is," he said, with almost a hint of mock thoughtfulness that had her reeling. The black-haired ponytailed _boy_ merely placed both his palms down against the counter, leaning forward on his arms as, suddenly, a smirk that mirrored her own spread across his lips.

"Unless you want the owners of this bar to fire their son?"

Temari stared.

And that infuriating _smirk_ of his only morphed into a grin of triumph, and with a quick push on his arms, he moved away from the bar, returning to his menial tasks once more.

A move that made her blood boil.

But she didn't allow it to show on her face; didn't allow the irritation and desire to _smack that shit grin off his face_ to distort her features. She stirred her drink once. For an underage, _shit_ bartender with no flair, at least he knew how to mix a drink.

 **...**

For the first time, she noticed it there: the textbook – not the one he had open on his desk, but rather, the one that she noticed him tossing aside – laid open pressed up against the bar. Temari's eyebrow raised, but he seemed indifferent about it all.

She dumped her winter coat on the stool beside her, clamouring up onto the wooden seat suddenly obscuring her view. Temari wondered if there had _always_ been a textbook there, propped up against the bar as if it weren't a secret.

It _was_ a local bar after all, so maybe it _wasn't._

That didn't make her feel any better.

"Aren't you afraid someone's going to call you out?" She said anyways, as the bartender came around once more with her drink already in his hands without prompting. A small grin played on his lips, but if it were from her words or some prior thought was unclear to her. With a gentle clink of glass, he slid the drink toward her. His eyes – a woody brown – met hers from beneath a frame of eyelashes, a quick glance that sat rather unsettled against her rapidly warming body.

"Not many people sit right at the bar," he said lightly. And then the grin quirking at his lips slid off his mouth, replaced by a slightly more serious line. "But I have to study."

 _Study_. As if Temari didn't know, didn't _see_ that his routine from coming home often entailed in him flopping facefirst into his bed upon returning home. "You don't seem to be the studious type," she commented. His mouth caught again, pulled upwards as a small _heh_ passed his lips.

"Normally, you'd be correct. However, university applications are due soon." He shrugged. "And I'm aiming to get into the University of Tokyo."

To say she was surprised would have been an understatement, for shock flooded her system at his words. _University of Tokyo_? _Her_ university? If his study habits were anything to go by, "You're not going to get in," she responded, a swift rebuttal that she put no thought into. But even as the last word left her mouth, she didn't regret them. Not when his eyes – _amused –_ met hers, something akin to a _challenge_ alive in his gaze.

"Is that a bet?"

"A dare, actually," Temari responded, rather confidently, and then it was _her_ turn to smirk.

His own smile rivaled hers, sudden interest bringing _life_ into the normally dead gaze of a teenager. The shift was almost astounding: gone away was the slouch, the slack eyebrows and forehead as he suddenly straightened.

"You're going to lose."

"Bullshit," Temari sang back – and she blamed her sudden excitement on the alcohol. " _You're_ going to lose. If you're only studying while you work, you're never going to get in."

"Maybe you can help me," he responded – and the smile was quite plain on his face now, though it was one she chose to ignore.

"You're on your own, buddy, since you seem to be _so_ confident you can get into _my_ university."

His hands found their favourite place against the wood, palms laid bare on the wood with his fingers curling around it. He leaned just slightly forward, enough so her eyes could make out the contour of his skin, the small blemishes of his complexion as he grinned. "Should someone in the _top_ university be frequenting a bar this often?"

And so she leaned in as well, just so that he could see the mascara on her eyelashes, so that the flush on her cheeks only grew more prominent as she brushed her tongue against her lips.

"Are we going to bring up the fact you're _underage_ again?"

The smile was distracting, especially as it only quirked somewhat lopsidedly before he pushed himself off the bar. It was only then that Temari realized another patron had meandered up to him. Her own grin almost _tingled_ on her lips, and as much as she tried she couldn't quite get it to go away.

 **...**

Temari stirred her drink once, one finger tracing the side of the sheet of paper before her. She could feel his eyes on her, with a renewed interest she never picked up on before. And so, aware of her audience, she picked up the pencil. With a few quick flourishes, she outlined the formula, reducing the problem.

His eyebrow raised. "I was thinking of doing it a different way."

"You could," Temari said, her eyes not lifting from the sheet. "It'd be _wrong_."

There it was again, that infuriating _chuckle_ , especially as he plucked the pencil straight from her grasp. Elbows sliding from under him, he leaned over once more, so close that his breath ghosted across her cheek. But she wasn't distracted by that; she merely followed the pencil strokes as he began to write something, albeit in his own orientation, with quick concentration.

As it clicked into place, she stared.

"Okay yes, that works, but that's a longer solution to it," she said hastily, and she ignored that grin once more as she stole back the pencil. "You can skip those three steps if you jump to here."

He shrugged. "But it's more of an accurate answer, and it took me just as long to do yours."

Temari rolled her eyes. "Look, you asked me to see what I would do in this situation –"

"- I wanted to compare it with an _actual_ student of Tokyo University-"

"- _University of Tokyo,_ thank you –"

And he laughed again, this time more heartily, and every time she heard it it _still_ threw her off her guard. She shoved the paper back against his eyebrows as he hissed and recoiled.

"Whatever crybaby," Temari said as she took another hearty sip of her drink. "If you have your way, you'll probably get in anyways."

"Do you still dare me, then?"

"It gives you something to work towards," she dismissed, before she lifted her glass and drained the rest of her drink in one go. She slammed it back down against the table as he raised an eyebrow. "He took the glass wordlessly and filled it once more.

"You make it sound as if I spend my free time sleeping, and yet I'm here."

"So you are," Temari said as she took the glass from his grasp.

His fingers were cool, primed and almost _elegant,_ as if he never used them before. Almost like a pianist's fingers. And then she withdrew her hand, drink in her clutches, and she took a hearty sip to disguise her sudden awkwardness.

From the corner of her eye, she once again saw his smile.

She decided not to comment on it.

 **...**

To her surprise, he was actually lying across his bed, textbook splayed across his bed sheets.

And so she counted to three. When she reached two, he rolled over and, from the looks of it, fell asleep. That is, until his eyes snapped open and rolled to his window.

She'd looked away by then.

 **...**

A piece of paper distracted her from her drink, and upon a glance at the culprit, she couldn't stop her own grin. Though as much as she wanted to pretend she wasn't pleased, the truth is that she _was_ , and she felt a strange sense of pride for the Nara.

"Congrats," Temari said, her voice for once not laced with sarcasm, as it had the last few times she'd visited the bar, a regular place in her books. He didn't really smile, nor acknowledge _her_ acknowledgement, but whereas once that would've offended her, she merely took it as is.

But he did mutter a _thanks_ , and to her now-trained ears she could detect something almost like _sheepishness,_ before it was replaced with careful indifference.

Temari could've snorted at that point.

"So now you also venture into the realms of Academia," she murmured. "Doesn't seem to be up your alley, really."

"Right, what was I thinking?" he muttered back, though the small upturned corner of his lips told her otherwise. And then he assumed their usual position, his elbows against the bar as he crossed his arms. His eyes suddenly grew serious, no more teasing or amusement.

"So I'm not going to be working here anymore," he started. And although there was _still_ that careful indifference, Temari could hear something beyond it – a prying question, lingering like a suggestion in his words.

Temari stretched her arms across the bar as well, her fingers not quite skimming his arms but rather dangling off the other end of the wood. "Shame," she said lightly.

And then his tone, once again masked in the sense of disinterest, but the mere way he clenched his teeth was a dead giveaway. "And I'm moving into residence – on campus."

She wasn't stupid: she could read every intention off his voice like a book. Truthfully she couldn't remember a time when she _couldn't._ And even so, a small – miniscule, non-existent really – pang of loneliness and disappointment throbbed in her stomach, but she merely nodded. A small, morose smile played at his lips, if only for a second, before he lifted his elbows back off the bar, pushing himself off in the same familiar manner he'd done countless of times before.

"I win the dare, by the way. So my prize – a campus tour?"

Temari's nose wrinkled, and teasing playfulness returned into his voice. _Her_ voice, as she shrugged. "I don't know, you're willing to blow your win on a _tour_?"

It was there. The signs were always there: despite lazy eyes and a slack forehead, slack jaw, the twinkle of a grin remained at his mouth, the carefully constructed indifference in his voice just that – constructed – for he merely shrugged.

"Seems worth it. I'll be at your place at nine AM, then?"

Temari chuckled as she finished her drink. "You're picking me up? Who said I'm going to let you in?"

Shikamaru's eyes only narrowed at the challenge, as he once again spread himself across the bar. "What if I dared you?"


End file.
